5. Chapter 5

               There were times when Mirabel felt like raising Antonio for his parents wasn’t worth it. The nights when he woke her with his screaming and crying from a nightmare, or hunger, or *shiver* a full diaper. When he would pull her hair, she had finally decided to grow it out enough to braid out of her face, enough to give her migraines. The times when he was taken from her to spend time with Pepa, even though the woman only really spent an hour with him a week at most and yet expected him to love her the way that her other children did. It sucked and made her question if she should really be doing his parent’s job for them. Why should she lug this baby to and from her apprenticeships, take care of his injuries and watch him when he’s sick, do everything Pepa and Felix should be, only to be expected to hand him over whenever the two wanted the perks of parenthood without its drawbacks. Of course, she would never decide that raising him was a mistake, but the difficulty and thanklessness got to her sometimes. Luckily, all those times of questioning darkness were few enough and paled compared to the shining novas of the bright spots.

               The first time she had felt proud of herself for raising him was when she had taught him his first word. Her Tia Daniela had told her that after about 4 months, Antonio should start to understand language, so she started trying to teach him her little knocking language. Nothing complex; she didn’t expect a baby to get any of the weird syntax and modifiers that she and her Mama created to hold entire conversations. She just showed him words, carefully making his little heel kick his crib or the floor for “help,” having him pat his mouth for “hungry,” or “food,” and of course the little heart rub that referred to “Mama” and all the other little actions for family titles. Names in their little language were generally hard because it only had two native speakers: Cassie and Mirabel. Sure, her Tita and Tias were learning it, but they were in no way fluent like she and her Mama were as its creators. She never had to say her own name because everyone who knew the language already knew her, and she could just pat her Mama or rub her heart to refer to Cassie.

So, she didn’t try to come up with a way to say names. It wasn’t worth thinking up some complex combination to refer to people when a title would work just as well as it did for her Mama. So, instead of names, she differentiated her tias with a modifier after their titles related to their jobs. She made little nail swipes for her Tita’s scissors, a couple single knuckle knocks for her Tia Daniella’s awl, making holes in the shoe leather. For Tia Carmella, a pair of pounds simulating her hammer working metal, and for Tia Elena, she tapped with her fingernail for the tiny ticks of the clockwork she makes. Most of the Madrigals she never really differentiated other than the titles. She felt a little bad for relegating her birth parents to another aunt and uncle, but she couldn’t really lie and refer to them as parents when she hadn’t really felt paternal or maternal love from them in years. Sometimes, she slipped and used the percussion which meant ‘person,’ the most neutral address possible. It was like calling them “a person I know exists,” or just “that guy,” but she usually caught herself afterward and corrected to their family position. Anyway, considering she couldn’t pick a familial title for herself, she would just go with whatever her little primo would choose for her.

               Of course, letting Antonio choose his address for her meant that when at almost 13 months, he, with a smile on his face, purposefully rubbed his little heart and patted then squeezed her hand (“Mama Love you”) as she was playing with him, she was not at all prepared. She had felt her eyes fill as she squeezed his little hand gently and patted his hand then cheek (“Love you, Mijo”). And ever since, she had just slotted into the only title given to her (other than Apprentice) that she would happily accept. It had taken a long time, almost to the age of three, for Antonio to really get what she was saying, but his spongy little baby brain picked up the actions by rote until he was almost as fluent as Mirabel and her Mama. His verbal language was picked up from his Tias, who made up for his Mama’s silence with their frequent bickering and teasing of one another. His first word was “Mi-Bel,” although that was replaced by “Ma-Mi” when he figured out it was the same word as the heart rub that represented his primary caretaker. Mirabel pretended to be pleasantly surprised when Pepa started raining in happiness about how (a year and change into Antonio talking) her baby boy had called her mom. In reality, the then 12-year-old was just happy to let the woman think whatever she wanted so as to not be fried to death by lightning.

               Around his first audible words was also the first time he walked around. He had been with Mirabel at her Tita’s shop as she was sorting some fabric that was going on sale. He was over on the floor in view of Ayla at the counter and herself, should Mirabel look over her shoulder. It was one of Mirabel’s vocal days, so she hummed to herself and talked with her Tita and her hijo as she worked. Antonio hadn’t really gotten the hang of crawling yet, so she had assumed that he would be fine playing on his blanket on the floor with the plushies that Ayla sewed for him regularly and listening to her seldom-used voice. However, she was startled from her task by her Tita’s gasp and turned around to see her little boy shakily stand and begin toddling over towards her. She had quickly rushed over to him and picked him up when he started to tip over. She had spun him around in her happiness, dragging maniacal giggles out of the one-and-a-half-year-old. She had then settled him in her arms and poked his nose, muttering to him, “You just had to walk before you could crawl, didn’t you.” To which her Tita had smiled and replied, “He takes after you; you started raising a child before you even had a boyfriend.” Mirabel had just huffed, set the toddler on her hip, and turned away from her Tita’s teasing, telling the toddler, “You don’t need a papa, just your Mami, and Abuelita Cassie and no nasty Titas who tease your poor Mami.” The child hadn’t understood and just kept giggling. However, Ayla’s feigned gasp of hurt had made Mirabel smirk playfully over her shoulder at the woman, leaving to bring her son over to his Tia Daniela so that she could watch him while she finished her work.

               Of course, everything wasn’t butterflies and gumdrops, especially after Antonio learned to use his vocal cords. Antonio was a quiet baby, but when he decided to be heard, he would be. The worst of these times usually occurred when he wanted to end his time with Pepa. But, of course, he couldn’t just yell for his Mami because then Pepa would get mad at Mirabel, and he didn’t want that. So, he would just plant himself wherever he was at the time and yell to Cassie in Knocking, just a single heel then a stomp. All the while, he would start vocally crying. Once he got a better grasp of words, he would say that he was tired and wanted a nap and didn’t want to play weatherman anymore. Both cases caused Pepa to get flustered and close down to keep herself from harming Antonio. Meanwhile, Cassie would tell Mirabel, who usually either stayed in the nursery working on personal projects or cleaned the house. She would then rush to pick him up from his birth mother and usually carry him back to the nursery, where she would scold him in their secret language (as he had taken to calling it) for making a scene before hugging him and putting him down for a nap.

               After one attempt though, he knew better than to pull a tantrum on his Tia. That attempt had only gotten him a disappointed look from his Tia Daniela and a lecture. First, she had lectured him about how his mother was busy working and learning right now. Then, she explained to him that his Mami was trying to learn from Ayla to work later in life at something she loved. Then she had asked if he wanted to make his Mami sad by pulling her away from learning things she enjoyed with her Tita just because he was bored of playing while his cousins were napping. Somewhat ashamed of himself, he apologized and played quietly until his prima Miranda and primo Manuel were awake to play with him again. After that day, he had happily spent time with whatever Tia wanted to take him while his Mami worked, and sometimes when he was really good, he got to help her at his Tita’s grabbing fabric and things that they needed.

               When he was about three, his Mama had started having him help her with her chores. And like Abuelita Cassie before her, she tried to integrate his education into those chores. So, he learned his colors while sorting and folding the family laundry. He learned letters as he cleaned the doors and helped her sort out the kitchen between Julietta’s cooking runs. Animals were discussed while they cleaned up his rather extensive stuffed animal collection. Numbers and counting were discussed while sweeping and mopping the floors, with Abuelita Cassie helping by shifting dirty tiles to count as they mopped them off. In that vein, Mirabel (or Mira, she always him to call her when the relatives were around) would try to make the chores as fun as possible. Mirabel had Cassie move baskets around and had him toss clothes of a specific color into particular baskets. She raced him to see who could clean their side of the hallway the fastest, celebrating with him when he finally won (never telling him that she had let him win). And when his Mami was doing something too dangerous for him to do, like cleaning out the fireplaces or heating up the wash water, Cassie spoiled him. She tossed him up in the air and caught him at the height of his ascent with her boards or let him run up and slide down the stairs, or sometimes even creating miniature obstacle courses in the courtyard for him to run and climb and be a little boy on.

               But Antonio’s favorite time was after dinner when there wasn’t any more work to be done, and the two of them were in the nursery. He would climb up into bed and cuddle up to her as she wound down from the day. Usually, she would be knitting or embroidering something, likely for him, since she didn’t like making things for herself. He would snuggle into her and listen to her tap random beats on the wall with her foot or hum some unknown song to herself as she knitted together socks or made a pretty pattern appear on a boring shirt. It was nice; He liked snuggling up to his Mami, bathing in her warmth and presence. She always taught and comforted him and made him feel good about doing all the little things that she had missed in her upbringing. Of course, he just knew that she was fun and nice, and kissed his boo-boos before getting him some of Tia Julietta’s food. But most of all she made him feel safe. He thought it came down to smell. His Mami smelt like lemon, soap, and fresh fabric, things that could never hurt him. Hers was the opposite of the itchy sharp ozone and sickly damp smell that hung around Pepa. All things considered, he loved his quiet, hard-working, caring Mami, and he wanted to stay with her forever.